Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR9P4G5CSK3VHZRGNZN83T

The air inside the grove did not smell like Richmond Park. Outside the ancient oak standing stones that marked the boundary, the London winter bit with a damp, grey chill, carrying the scent of wet pavement and exhaust. Here, the air was thick and sweet, heavy with the perfume of blooming nightshade and something sharper, like ozone before a storm. Aurora Carter paused just across the threshold, her hand instinctively going to the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. It was a nervous tic, a phantom itch from a childhood fall that had nothing to do with the magic humming against her skin, but the gesture grounded her. "Bloody hell," she whispered, the words snatched away by a breeze that felt too warm for December. Beside her, Nyx shifted. The Shade's form was less distinct here, the living shadow blurring at the edges as if the ambient light of the realm was trying to dissolve them. Their faintly glowing violet eyes scanned the canopy above, where leaves of impossible emerald and violet interlocked to block out the London sky. In its place hung a soft, pearlescent haze that provided illumination without a visible source. "The barrier is thin here," Nyx said, their voice sounding like dry leaves skittering over stone, a whisper carried on a wind that didn't touch Aurora's face. "The Veil stretches like old silk. One tug, and it snaps." Aurora followed Nyx's gaze, though she saw nothing but the shimmering distortion of the air. She didn't have the supernatural sight the Wardens spoke of, but she could feel the pressure of it, a static charge raising the fine hairs on her arms. She adjusted the strap of her delivery bag, a habit from her shifts at the Golden Empress, even though the insulated box felt absurdly mundane against the backdrop of eternal spring. Inside the bag, beneath stacks of takeout containers, the Heartstone Pendant pulsed. It wasn't a rhythmic beat, but a irregular throb of warmth against her hip, the deep crimson gem reacting to the proximity of the rift. "Isolde said to stick to the path," Aurora said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Or whatever passes for a path here." "There are no paths," came a third voice, melodic and detaching from the space ahead of them. "Only choices you have already made." Isolde Varga stepped out from behind a curtain of weeping willows that dripped with silver blossoms. The Half-Fae seer moved with a fluidity that defied physics; her silver hair, reaching all the way to her waist, floated as if she were underwater, yet her feet made no impression on the lush moss beneath them. Where Aurora's boots sank slightly into the earth, leaving clear treads, Isolde left the ground undisturbed, ghosting over the terrain. Her pale lavender eyes fixed on Aurora, unblinking. "You're late," Isolde said, though her tone held no reproach, only a strange, timeless curiosity. "Or perhaps you are early. Time is a slippery fish in this pocket. An hour for you might be a minute for the world you left, or a decade. Did you lock your flat door, Aurora?" Aurora frowned, the cool-headed logic she prided herself on scrambling to catch up. "Yes. Double deadbolt. Why?" "Just wondering if you will return to find it has crumbled to dust while you blinked," Isolde replied, turning on her heel. "Come. The grove does not tolerate loiterers, and the shadows here have teeth if provoked." Nyx drifted closer to Aurora, their solid form coalescing into a tall, humanoid silhouette of darkness that blocked the strange, directionless light. "She speaks truth, though she wraps it in riddles. The Fae compulsion binds her tongue; she cannot lie. But she can certainly lead us in circles." "Not circles," Isolde called back without looking. "Spirals. There is a difference." They followed the seer deeper into the clearing. The flora was aggressive in its beauty. Wildflowers bloomed in clusters of burning orange and electric blue, unfolding and closing in rapid cycles as they watched. Vines thicker than Aurora's wrist coiled around tree trunks that seemed to breathe, their bark expanding and contracting slowly. The silence of the place was the most unnerving part. There were no birds, no insects buzzing, only the rush of a nearby stream that sounded suspiciously like human whispered conversations. Aurora reached out to touch a flower with petals that looked like spun glass. As her finger neared, the plant recoiled, shrinking into a tight, defensive bud. "Don't," Nyx warned, the violet glow of their eyes intensifying. "Everything here is alive. Even the stone." Aurora pulled her hand back, wiping her palm on her jeans. "Right. Noted. No touching the alien gardening." The deeper they ventured, the more the sense of unease prickled at the base of Aurora's neck. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was the feeling of being watched by the landscape itself. The trees seemed to lean in, their branches forming archways that felt less like invitations and more like jaws. The light shifted, growing warmer, amber-hued, reminding her uncomfortably of the descriptions of Dymas, the realm of Gluttony. But this was Fae territory, a neutral ground, or so she had been told. The Heartstone grew hotter, the silver chain burning slightly against her collarbone. "Isolde," Aurora said, stopping as the ground beneath them began to slope downward into a dip filled with a low-lying mist. "Where are we going? You said you had information about the rift points. About the Winter Solstice weakening the Veil." Isolde stopped at the edge of the mist. She turned, her ethereal face unreadable. "The Veil weakens because the world forgets to hold it together. People stop believing in the boundary, so the boundary fades. We go to the place where the forgetting is loudest." "And that's down there?" Aurora gestured to the fog. "That is where the echo is strongest," Isolde corrected. "Step carefully. The mist shows you what you hunger for. For some, it is food. For others, power. For you, Aurora Carter, daughter of Brendan and Jennifer... it might be safety." Aurora stiffened. The mention of her parents, of the life she had fled in Cardiff, landed with the weight of a physical blow. She thought of Evan, the abusive ex she had run from, and the fragile sanctuary she had built above Silas' bar in London. The mist seemed to swirl, taking on shapes. For a heartbeat, she saw the warm glow of her flat's kitchen, the smell of garlic and ginger from the restaurant downstairs, the face of Eva smiling at her. It was so vivid she took a step forward. "Rory," Nyx's voice cut through the vision, sharp and cold. "It is not real. Look at the feet." Aurora blinked, shaking her head. She looked down at the vision of her flat. The floorboards were there, but beneath them, she saw nothing but a void of swirling stars. The image flickered, distorting. The safety she craved was a trap, a lure designed by the realm to keep her static. "Right," she breathed, forcing her mind to engage, to analyze the inconsistency. "No footprints. Just like you, Isolde." "Precisely," the seer said, her expression softening just a fraction. "The mind is a hungry thing. It eats illusions and starves for truth. That is why you are here. You see the cracks in the story." Isolde raised a hand, her fingers long and slender, tipped with nails that looked like polished moonstone. She swept her arm through the mist. The fog parted instantly, revealing a circle of standing stones much smaller than the ones at the entrance, arranged around a pool of water that reflected a sky full of unfamiliar constellations. In the center of the pool floated a single, black leaf, untouched by the ripples. "The rift is not a door," Isolde said, her voice dropping to a hush that compelled silence. "It is a wound. And something is trying to pick at the stitches." Aurora moved toward the pool, the Heartstone now throbbing rapidly, a steady drumbeat against her ribs. She knelt by the water's edge. The reflection showed her own face—bright blue eyes wide, straight black hair framing a expression of grim determination—but behind her reflection, standing in the water that should have been shallow, was a towering figure clad in armor made of bone and ash. It wasn't there when she looked up, only in the mirror of the pool. "Nyx," she said quietly, not taking her eyes off the water. "Do you see that?" The Shade drifted over, their form solidifying until they cast a shadow on the grass. They looked into the pool, their violet eyes narrowing. "I see it. A soldier of Hel. Perhaps from Dymas, though the armor suggests the lower circles." "Prince Belphegor's domain," Aurora murmured, recalling the lore she'd scraped together from late-night research and whispered warnings. "Gluttony. They're hungry for more than just feasts." "They are hungry for the breach," Isolde said, stepping up beside them. The wildflowers around the pool seemed to wilt instantly in the seer's presence, as if recognizing a greater power. "The Solstice approaches. The Veil will tear. If that soldier steps through, he will not come alone." Aurora stood up, the cold air of the illusion fading, replaced by the very real, very dangerous chill of the moment. She reached into her bag and pulled out the Fae-Forged Blade Isolde had gifted her days ago. The moonsilver dagger was slender and leaf-shaped, radiating a cold that seeped into her palm, comforting in its lethality. In the dim light of the grove, the blade began to glow with a faint, luminescent hue. "Then we make sure the tear doesn't happen," Aurora said, her voice losing its tremor, replaced by the steel of the girl who had left everything behind to survive. She gripped the hilt, feeling the magic hum in resonance with the Heartstone. "Show me where the stitch is weakest, Isolde. I'm ready to do some sewing." Isolde smiled, a rare, genuine expression that made her look suddenly young, despite her three hundred years. "At last," the seer whispered. "The story begins."